


In Which Connor Paints the House

by Sharcade



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bickering, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Music, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Painting, Short One Shot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharcade/pseuds/Sharcade
Summary: Connor and Hank have very similar tastes in lots of things, just not music.





	In Which Connor Paints the House

Hank's favourite place to be was at home.

Home was comfortable, home was his own. However, as of last year officially, home had been Connor's own as well, and Hank was still learning to respect that. Connor was an interesting person to live with. He didn't have a room of his own. Though he did sleep, he didn't require comfort to do so, so he mainly slept on the couch. However, Connor did have certain needs that had to be met in order for him to live comfortably. 

The house had to be clean, that was a firm rule. Connor didn't mind doing all the cleaning, as long as the cleaning was done. He would wash the dishes, clean the floors, groom the dog, and as many other small chores as he could get done in his free time. Connor didn't have a lot of hobbies, which meant that a lot of his time was spent both cleaning and with Hank. However, today Connor had begun a new endeavour. 

Connor was painting the house. The whole house. The living room had already been painted the day prior, Connor insisting that one room must be already completed so that Hank would have somewhere to stay while Connor painted. The room definitely looked nice. Connor had given it a thorough cleaning before painting the walls, wanting Hank to be able to appreciate his  _finished_ work once the paint had dried. Today, Connor was completing his painting in the rest of the rooms.

"What colour did you say this was?" Hank called over his shoulder, looking around at the pale walls.

"Hex code CCF794!" Connor called back, poking his head out of Hank's room with a small smile. "It's called  _mindaro._ "

"It's called green."

"It's actually closer to chartreuse!" Connor corrected, approaching the couch and folding his arms as he glanced around at his work. "An unsaturated, warm sort of greenish chartreuse."

"You sure know your colours, huh?"

"I thought a green tone would like very nice in here!" Connor beamed, Hank holding back a smile at the small splotch of paint that Connor hadn't seemed to notice on his cheek. "Green is the colour of health, Lieutenant, it represents growth and safety. I felt those influences would be appropriate for our home, not to mention the colour is quite easy on the eyes."

"It's nice," Hank agreed, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "What've you got going in my room?"

"Hex code B2C1FF," Connor explained, peering down the hallway in thought. "It's called melrose, it has a calming effect on the psyche. I thought it would be a nice addition."

"Could always use a little calming."

"Exactly!" Connor beamed, hurriedly proceeding back down the hall to continue his work.

Hank yawned, itching his beard as he contemplated what he could do to cure his boredom. Connor's music had been playing since this morning, he had simply turned on the radio and let it run, pop music blaring from the kitchen to help Connor focus on his task. As helpful as it may have been to Connor, the music was absolutely grating to Hank. It was tasteless crap put out by the music industry for idiots with no sense of real music. Hank understood what real music was.

"Ay! Connor!"

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"I'm turning off your shitty radio and putting on something better."

"Lieutenant, I don't wanna listen to any more Vocaloid."

"It's- Hey! Fuck off, it's not Vocaloid this time!"

"Hatsune Miku isn't real, Lieutenant."

"It's not fucking Vocaloid!"

Hank huffed quietly, plugging his phone into Connor's radio and flipping through his playlists. He finally selected one of his many different jazz collections, stalking back to the couch and flopping back down as the music began to play.

"This song is quite old, Lieutenant."

"Yep!" Hank called back. "An oldie but a goodie."

"It's charming," Connor began skeptically, walking back out into the hall. "But a little bit slow."

"Psh, it's fuckin' perfect. Androids can't appreciate real music."

"We can!" Connor huffed defensively, folding his arms, careful not to nick his clothes with the paint roller in his hands. "Just because my music tastes do not coincide with your own does not make them invalid."

"Connor, you are 100% not valid."

"I am extremely valid."

Hank sat up, taking an elastic from the coffee table and tying his hair back as he looked around at the progress Connor had made. The house definitely needed the new coat of paint, it was already looking more energetic than it had in years. Connor enjoyed things that were energetic, Connor enjoyed energy. Hank could definitely see that, if not from his personality, than from his choice of colours. He paused, getting up and approaching his phone once again.

"You said you liked heavy metal because it had  _energy,_ right?"

"Correct."

"And you like jazz, but it's too slow?"

"Correct."

"Alright, try this on." Hank muttered, changing the playlist.

The second the music started, Connor's expression seemed to light up, his LED flickering as he identified the music.

"Swing-?"

"Damn right it's swing."

"A very clever choice, Lieutenant." Connor praised, smiling slightly and tapping his finger against his arm on the beat. "Like jazz, but with energy."

"Exactly. You know how to swing?"

"I have over two hundred dance styles installed in my systems."

"You wanna swing?"

"I'll consider the proposition after I've finished my work." Connor stated. "However, that proposition is  _extremely tempting_ , so maybe we should change the genre before I get distracted."

"Alright, you ever listened to punk before?"

Connor squinted for a moment before letting out a dry sigh.

"Punk is...not my style of music.  _Friends of mine_ are interested in punk, but they are...overwhelmingly, what's the word-"

"Are you saying Markus is edgy?"

"Markus is very edgy."

"Alright, skipping punk." Hank confirmed, skipping the track.

Connor's LED flickered, his brow furrowing as he tried to pinpoint what he was listening to.

"This sounds like the way your shirts look." he announced finally, looking up at Hank.

"It's R&B!" Hank argued. "It's good!"

"Lieutenant, I don't mean to upset you, but this is actually very terrible."

"Fuckin' androids, no appreciation for  _good music._ "

"By good music, do you mean bad music? Like R&B?"

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?"

"Sorry Lieutenant."

He was, in fact, very not sorry.

"Have you heard country music?" Connor inquired, Hank scoffing in utter disgust.

"Not in my fuckin' house Connor."

"Understood."

"Give this a shot." Hank offered, switching the track once again.

" _Oh._ " Connor stated simply. "Oh. Oh wow. This is very bad."

"I listened to this a lot when I was a teenager."

"Reggae," Connor identified thoughtfully. "Is there a reason you listened to reggae so frequently? It doesn't seem like your style."

"It was definitely  _not_ because I was high for most of 2002."

"...I detect a discrepancy in that statement."

"Why don't you go back to detectin' your paints or whatever the hell you're still doing in my room?" Hank urged, switching the music off bitterly and laying back down on the couch.

"Affirmative, Lieutenant."

Hank watched as Connor wandered off back down the hall, the house remaining silent as he painted. Hank understood music, Hank understood art, he knew what was good. Jazz was good, he enjoyed jazz. Connor just couldn't grasp it, that had to be it. Jazz was Hank's favourite genre, and admittedly, it was disappointing that Connor didn't feel as strongly. Then again, he and Connor were from  _very_ different times.

After a moment, Hank realized the silence had been broken. There was soft music, extremely soft music, emanating from his own room. He perked up, sitting upright and raising an eyebrow as the sound continued, low and smooth. It wasn't a song that Hank recognized, it sounded more like it was being made up on the spot. In fact, it sounded like Connor humming. Hank stayed silent, listening as the android continued, the song quiet and surprisingly enthralling.

Connor's voice as oddly pleasing, Hank supposed it was designed to be so. It relaxed him, it was warm, it was familiar, it was Connor. The same Connor he had been pissed at two seconds ago for not liking jazz, the same Connor he had accused of not being able to grasp the concept of music, humming sweetly while he worked. It sounded perfect.

Maybe jazz wasn't Hank's favourite type of music after all. 


End file.
